


Adventures in Retail

by aniloquent



Category: Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Retail, Bisexual Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes's Metal Arm, Gay Bucky Barnes, I think I just made that tag up, M/M, Old Navy, Undercover Missions, but what else is new, nothing too significant to get a tag, oh well, side relationships if you squint, steve is an idiot
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-14
Updated: 2019-06-04
Packaged: 2019-06-10 08:04:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,321
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15287295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aniloquent/pseuds/aniloquent
Summary: When Steve has to go undercover as a retail worker in the middle of nowhere, he doesn't expect for it to be so awful. He also doesn't expect to bring Hydra to its knees while he's doing a simple intel gathering.The biggest surprise, however, is Bucky Barnes, manager, asshole, and probably the greatest thing to happen to him.





	1. Let Me Speak to the Manager!

**Author's Note:**

> ...did I write this fic to express how much I hate working at a store that rhymes with Pold Pavy? Maybe so.

“Retail? That can’t be that horrible, right?”

Sam and Natasha exchange doubtful glances that Steve misses as he scans the file. 

“Uh, it’s not exactly how Macy’s used to be, Cap,” Sam says. Natasha nods. “Working in a retail store like this is basically hell on Earth.”

“Fitting for me then,” Steve mumbled, frowning over a bunch of numbers and names. “And Gimbel’s was much better, by the way. I always got harassed in Macy’s.”

Sam rolls his eyes. “Save it for the History Channel, you fuckin’ jerk.” Steve smiles brightly. He  _ loves _ being surrounded by other New Yorkers. “This mission shouldn’t be that horrible. Simple intel extraction. In and out in six weeks.”

“We’re not hoping to magically find Pierce and stab this thing in the heart,” Natasha adds. “It’s not likely he’ll come to this base in Shelbyville, Indiana when he has literally hundreds of these little hidey holes around the world.” She stares at him long enough for Steve to look up from the file. “Don’t make this more dramatic than it needs to be, Rogers.”

Steve makes a face. “Me? Dramatic?”

They both frown a him.

His shoulders drop. They were right.

Steve pouts. “And why do I need to do this again?”

Sam levels him with a look. “I’m still working out Stark’s air security kinks with Rhodey and Misty. It’s taking a little bit longer to get the algorithm right.”

Natasha snorts. “Those are the only kinks you three are working out, Wilson?”

Steve’s envious of Sam’s complexion as he turns his glare on the petite redhead. He’s 100% sure Wilson’s blushing. “You sound like Tony. Hush.”

She smiles devilishly, holding up her hands. “I’m just jealous and trying to get in on the action! Can’t blame me for trying.”

Sam rubs the back of his neck, and there’s a small smile pulling at his lips. “Yeah, I’m pretty lucky. They’re great.”

Natasha’s smile gets a little more secretive before she drops it completely, turning to frown at Steve again. “Nothing dramatic. Mind your business. Intel and get out. Work on your customer service and try not to cry when people yell at you. It’ll happen every single day.”

Steve grunted. Retail was  _ not _ going to be that bad.

-

“C-can I have a manager to register three, please?”

Bucky and Gabe turn to look at each other at the same time.

“I went last time,” Morita says unhelpfully. They ignore him. 

”I’m gay,” Bucky whines. “This is a hate crime."

Gabe throws his hands up. “I’m black! That’s a hate crime, too!”

Bucky narrows his eyes.

Gabe narrows his. 

“Fine!” Bucky pushes himself away from the desk with a loud, dramatic sigh. “I’ll do it. Fucking homophobes. I don’t want either of you speaking at my vigil.” They bully him out of the room as Bucky makes his way to the front of the store, making sure to pat down his hair and straighten out his name tag. 

Bucky can  _ feel _ Peter’s nerves before he even sees the poor kid. His back is to Bucky, and he’s visibly trembling at a red-faced, middle-aged woman with a toddler on her hip and two others horse playing nearby. She’s gesturing wildly and Peter is nodding furiously, shakily hitting buttons on the ancient computer. The cash drawer pops out unhelpfully and his computer freezes before printing out a comically blank receipt. 

Peter freezes, and Bucky watches his shoulders droop before he utters something sheepishly to the angry customer in front of him. Bucky watches her eyes get wild as she throws a full on tantrum. The unnecessarily wild movements startle the small child in her arms, and the tot starts clutching her tighter and wailing. The kids running around seem to get even louder. A long line of irritated customers watch on boredly. 

Bucky sighs.

_ Retail _ .

He speed walks up behind Peter, placing a hand on the kid’s shoulder. He jumps at Bucky’s touch, spinning around quickly. He visibly relaxes once he sees his manager.

“B-Bucky,” he breathes, brown eyes bright and nervous. “Thank god.”

“And just what is  _ that _ supposed to mean, young man?”

“What’s the problem here, ma’am?” Bucky says, completely ignoring her. 

She huffs and pushes a tuft of orange bangs away from her face. “I keep trying to explain to him,” she gives Peter a venomous glare that makes him shrink even smaller. Bucky squeezes his shoulder sympathetically. “That these coupons are good to use here.”

Bucky nods slowly, sliding his eyes over to Peter, who wisely takes that as his cue to explain his side of the story. “I know we have our ten-dollar compliance policy, Bucky, I swear,” he gulps and glances at the screen. Bucky looks past him to see a heavy 450-dollar order. Sixty percent of it is Bermuda shorts and flip flops. Bucky barely holds back a grimace. “And I did that. On everything I could. But it still wasn’t what she wanted.”

“The coupon says eighty percent off!” She yelled. The baby started crying louder. “I want my eighty percent off!”

Bucky sighs again.

_ Fucking retail. _

“Okay, I think I know the problem here,” he says placatingly, looking between Peter and the woman with his best calm the fuck down face. “Could I see that coupon, ma’am?”

She huffs and fishes her phone out of her pocket, and Bucky worries the safety of the child squirming in her arms. “I just put it away,” she complained, and Bucky bites down on his tongue. Hard. Why the fuck would you put away a damn coupon before the fucking purchase was completed? She slaps the phone down on the counter with more force than necessary. Jubilee looks over from her register before turning back to her own customers.

“May I?” Bucky says. She holds out the phone for him to take with a cautious glance at Bucky’s prosthetic that he ignores completely, and he squints at the email.

A fake. Bucky knew it before he even laid eyes on the damn thing, but he’s not sure how anyone with two working brain cells would have ever thought this bullshit was legitimate. The colors were completely off, the typos were embarrassingly rampant, and it was through RetailMe-fucking-Not, for fucks sake. 

“Alright,” he says brightly, gently pushing Peter out of the way to get to his register. “This is a fake coupon. We’ve gotten a lot of these lately,” he lies, because again who the fuck would fall for this shit? “But I’ll see what I can do.”

She finally deflates, but only slightly. Bucky can see the fight coming back into her stance. “Fine. But all I have is one hundred fifty in cash, and I’m not paying more than that.”

Peter lets out an indignant squeak. “T-this lane says card only!”

Bucky chances a sidelong glance at the growing line of customers. He winces as he sees it start to wrap around the women’s sundresses rack. 

“No worries, kiddo,” he says. “Go open lane seven and let them know we only take card there because you don’t have access to a register right now, and doing cash when you don’t have the authorization to tends to complicate things even further.” He directs all of this directly towards the scared teenager in front of him, but he doesn’t miss the guilty shifting from foot to foot of the monster in front of him.

“Okay, Bucky,” he sighs, shuffling off slowly. “I’m sorry.”

Bucky’s fake grin gets a little tighter. He has half a mind to chew this woman out on the spot. No one should ever make Peter, the sweetest person on the planet, feel like that. “Don’t be, kid! It’s a learning experience!”

He watches him come to the other side of Jubilee, who just reaches over to pat his hand sympathetically. 

Bucky nearly sheds a tear. He loves his kiddos.

“Cute kid, right?” He says, turning back to the troublesome customer in front of him. She looks increasingly more guilty by the minute, and Bucky cheers internally. “It’s his first job. He’s only been here a few weeks,” he informs her distractedly while he taps away on a manager override.

“A few weeks is long enough to know how to properly treat a customer,” she bites back.

“Not when you’re barely sixteen, ma’am,” he shoots back. “I can give you thirty percent off, and we can hold anything you need us to until you can pay for the rest of it.”

Her jaw drops. “T-that’s ridiculous!”

Bucky shrugs. “That’s company policy,” he lies. It’s not. He could give her this whole damn thing for free, but he sure as hell wasn’t about to do that after she treated Peter like shit. 

She stares at him, hard. Bucky stares back. He slept next to scarier snakes in fucking Afghanistan. He wasn’t about to pussy out to some soccer mom. 

Finally, she sighs, putting the child on the ground. She fishes out a card and hands it over to Bucky, which what the fuck? Why was she making this so fucking hard? “Fine. Here. I don’t have time for this.”

Bucky checks her out without another glance in her direction, stuffing a handful of expired coupons into one of her many bags next to her receipt. She snatches them and stalks off, horribly-behaved kids in tow.

“Thank you for your time! Come again!”

Bucky’s fake smile stays in place all the way until she crosses the threshold. He drops it and closes the lane, sighing in relief as he notices the dwindling line. Thank God for Jubilee, Kate, and Kamala. He makes a mental note to order a pizza right before close today. 

“Peter, could you come here for a second after that purchase, buddy?” Bucky calls. He looks over at how concentratedly Peter places five onesies in a bag.

“Of course, Bucky!” He watches the kid ring up his guests seamlessly and hand them their hefty bag with a coupon, receipt, and a smile. He bounds over to Bucky like a happy puppy, who briefly wonders how he could have bounced back from something that traumatic in such a short period of time.

“You alright?” Bucky says. Peter’s grin wilts. The kid shrugs.

“I guess so,” he says. He rubs the back of his neck

“I’m sorry about that. Some of these people really are animals, you know. Just gotta get used to it.”

Peter nods obediently. “Right. I’ll handle it next time.”

“No!” Bucky holds his hands out. Peter blinks. “But never tolerate that. Me and Gabe and Jim are here to deal with that. Trust me.” He sighs and runs a hand through his hair. “How’s your boyfriend doing?”

At the mention of said boyfriend, a cute teenager that works at the Little Tokyo, Peter blushes bright red. Bucky grins. “M-Miles? He’s not my boyfriend.”

Bucky raises an eyebrow. “So you’re telling me he brings everyone sesame chicken for all of their shifts?”

Peter fidgets. “T-they make a lot! There’s always extra.”

“Yeah, I’m sure. When are you gonna put him out of his misery and make it official? I’m not getting any younger here.”

Peter opens his mouth to probably deliver some smart-ass comment about how they both know Bucky isn’t getting any younger, but a loud  whistle interrupts them both. Bucky turns to see the man in question, Miles Morales, standing by the entrance. He’s beaming, and there’s a thin sheet of sweat on his brown skin, probably from the food. He pulls his visor off, and his curly hair moves with the motion comically.

“Hey, Spider-boy! You ready? I don’t have all day, and Kaplan said he can’t hold onto our froyo for much longer!”

He looks back to see an unabashed smile on Peter’s face. Bucky snorts.

“You can go on your fifteen, Peter.”

The kid is already ten feet away from Bucky by the time he’s halfway through his sentence.

“Thanks, Bucky!” He calls, reaching for Miles’ hand.

-

Bucky opens the door to the managerial office with a flourish. Gabe and Morita look up from their game of cards to inspect him. “Crisis averted?” Gabe asks.

“Yeah, but the doctors said I’ll need this for the rest of my life. She was ruthless,” Bucky teases, waving his prosthetic around.

Morita frowns. “That joke is really dark, Bucky.”

Bucky makes a face as he sits back down. “Suck my dick, Jim. It’s funny.” He reclines back in his chair and does a quick scan of the monitors. “She came in with one of those bullshit coupons demanding we give her the Pixie Chinos for damn near seven dollars. Ridiculous.”

Gabe snorts. “Had one of those the other day. It’s getting a little outta hand. Pierce might have to come and release some sort of corporate statement asking people to please leave us the fuck alone about eighty percent off coupons.”

Bucky grunts his agreement. “This lady was a real piece of work. Poor Peter. She marches right up to his lane with a crisp hundred and demands three hundred dollars off of a four fifty purchase. Thought he was gonna pass out, he looked so nervous.”

Morita frowns. “Is he alright?”

Big, sad, brown eyes flood Bucky’s memory, and he forces a casual shrug. “He will be. She damn sure isn’t the last of her kind.” Bucky shakes his head. “His little boyfriend is probably cheering him up with some frozen yogurt and hickies right now. He’s fine.”

“Aww,” Gabe and Morita coo at the same time. Bucky rolls his eyes.

“You two are ridiculous.”

“Hey! Don’t hate on the baby gays just because you’re an old, miserable, lonely fuck. They’re precious,” Gabe says, pointing his finger at Bucky accusingly.

Bucky folds his arms. “Your wife wouldn’t appreciate you calling me old. I’m snitching.” Morita snorts. “And besides, I have to stay single! Who else is gonna keep this place from going tits up when soccer moms come in and try to run shit?”

Morita shakes his head. “You’re right. Your talents are being wasted on retail, Barnes. Go be a negotiator or special ops.”

Bucky smiles, willing himself to calm down and quiet the sound of gunfire and screams replaying in his head. “You’re funny. I’m happy right where I am, dealing with assholes right in the middle of Bumfuck Nowhere.” 

Gabe grunts. “Just saying. You could be making a helluva lot more money dealing with international assholes.” Bucky’s quiet, and they drop it. “By the way, you have to do a training on Saturday. New guy from D.C. is coming in.”

Bucky frowns. “You hired him without an interview?”

Gabe shrugged. “You see how hectic it’s getting. All of our closes within the past week have been past 10:30. We’re sorely understaffed.”

Bucky sighs. “Fine. But when this guy comes in and kills all of us because no one did a proper background check, I’m not gonna say anything.”

 

Gabe and Morita laugh, going back to their card game. “You’re too paranoid, Barnes,” Morita says, slapping down a five that has Gabe letting out an impressive string of explicatives. “It’ll be fine.”

  
Bucky grunts. He’ll believe it when he sees it.


	2. Do You Have Any Coupons?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [Stefon voice] this chapter has everthing: a meetugly, gay superteens, a shirt-fold Nazi, icecream, espionage, and more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did... did I actually upload another chapter of a work I put on here? On time? Unbelieveable. I'm high and feeling productive and generous, so I hope you enjoy.
> 
>  

Bucky should have known it was going to be a bad day when some asshole parked in his spot.

He brakes in the middle of the lane and rubs at his eyes a few times to make sure he’s not still asleep. When the damn thing doesn’t dissolve as a figment of his imagination, Bucky groans and slumps against his steering wheel, ignoring the sad honk his shitty old car sputters out. Who the hell even gets here this early? What’s going on?

He glances down at the time. 9:02 a.m. Fucking hell. The mall doesn’t even open for another hour. He knows for a damn fact that the only people here are Starbucks people hardening themselves for a long day of being yelled at over caramel frappuccinos and store managers.

No one should be in his spot. No one but the people from his store even park here.

Bucky squints, trying to see if there was any way he could possibly bully this asshole out of his spot, but he couldn’t even see anything through the heavily tinted windows on the older model.

He huffs and pulls into another spot with too much aggression for a Saturday morning. Bucky doesn’t care.

He can tell this is about to be a long day.

-

“Good morning, Bucky,” Gabe says brightly. Bucky grunts at him. Gabe slides him an iced Americano, and Bucky grunts again out of gratitude. “How are you-”

“Some asshole parked in my spot!” He grouches. Morita rolls his eyes. “I feel violated. I feel cheated. I feel like I’ve been stolen from.”

Morita snorts. “Save it, white boy.” Bucky just narrows his eyes and sips at his coffee because the fucker has a point. “I don’t even know why you tried to claim a specific spot. This is a big ass mall! It’s Saturday. Of course some overambitious parents are gonna snatch it.”

“I’d had a 78-day park streak, though,” Bucky whines. Both of his assistant managers ignore him. “And some monster shattered it. All my hard work. Gone,” he cries, and drops his head onto the desk.

Gabe sighs. “You’re so fucking annoying.” Bucky sits straight up, ready to complain, but there’s a thin stack of papers being shoved into his face before he can really start up his ranting. “Also, you’re doing training today. Try not to scare off this guy, yeah? I’d like to get home earlier than ten to see my kid.””

“Is it time to meet the axe murderer already?” Bucky grumbles. Gabe and Morita ignore him. “I still can’t believe you did that, by the way. It’s just plain dangerous.”

Gabe waves him off. “Why the hell would an axe killer-”

“Murderer,” Bucky corrects primly.

“-come to our shitty little store for a shitty little job making shitty little to no money? You’re being paranoid.”

“Because no one else is!”

Morita shrugs. “If he tries some bullshit, just do your Seal Team Six fighting magic and take him down.”

Bucky rolls his eyes, not even looking up as he looks over the file. “I was a sniper, which means I did all my shit from tens of feet away,” he halfway lies. A handful of… other missions were minor details he could afford to leave out to make his point.

Also, the United States government made it very clear he’s contractually obligated to keep his fucking mouth shut until the day he dies.

“Which means I’m not going hand-to-hand combat with this asshole if he tries anything. I’m letting mall security handle that bullshit.”

“Good thing you won’t have to!” Gabe says brightly. “Because Steven Randall is completely normal and is going to help us fold clothes three times faster. Easy.”

Bucky isn’t buying it. He glares down at the helpless paper in his hands, annoyed at everything and everyone for the time being.

“Alright, Steven Randall,” he mutters to no one in particular. “Let’s see what your deal is.”

-

Steve Randall.

Steve frowns down at the fake drivers’ license in his hand, not for the first time that hour. He rubs at his eyes although he hasn’t had any sort of eye problem in over seventy years. He looks around the car incredulously, as if asking if anyone else can see the bullshit he’s dealing with right now.

“Randall? Really Natasha?” He mutters to himself as he tugs at his now-longish blonde hair, going over his file again. “How bad do you think I am at this shit?”

They couldn’t even give him a better name? It was bad enough they sent him to the middle of nowhere with a cramped apartment and some bullshit backstory about wanting to get away from D.C.

He squints at the briefing on his phone again. Jared Kurtz. Nancy Winderfield. William Darvin. Camilla Black. Ralph Sanzetti. Five low-level Hydra members that are supposed to report to Brock Rumlow, leader of Pierce’s North American Security and manager of a slightly above shitty retail store.

Fifty days. Intel collection. Get in. Get out. No flinging the shield at anyone.

Steve gets out and starts going over the store layout again in his head as he walks into the mall.

-

Two hours later, Bucky’s spirits still hasn’t lifted. He’s ran two couples out of the fitting room, called mall security on three sticky-handed teenager girls, and thrown away more Orange Julius cups than he can count. There’s about ten pairs of swim shorts with melted Oreo ice cream all over them because one lady couldn’t get a grip on her fucking kids.

Apparently there’s a very popular promotion there today. 32 oz Blizzards for only two fucking dollars.

Bucky is about to rip all of his hair out, pull the fire alarm, and send everyone the fuck _home_.

Now, here he is, discreetly following some asshole he’s 87% sure is trying to steal from the store.

Bucky sighs as he watches the bulky blond move awkwardly in front of him, bumping into tables and fidgeting at everything. He’s conducting a shaky phone call that Bucky isn’t really paying attention to and dipping into different sections he has no business being in (i.e. baby and women’s, but who was Bucky to judge) to fake check stuff out.

These shoplifters were getting worse and worse every day, it seemed.

Bucky’s not in the fucking mood for this. Bucky had his spot taken by some asshole this morning. Bucky’s going to run this fucker out of the store.

“Sir,” he says loudly. The blond jumps, knocking _six fucking stacks of fucking polo shirts off the fucking table are you fucking kidding me_ before turning to look at Bucky with wide eyes. He hangs up his call immediately.

“Y-yeah?”

Bucky is about to open his mouth and give this dude a piece of his mind, but he’s ridiculously good-looking, and Bucky briefly wonders if it would be unprofessional to give someone his number after he kicked them out of his store. “Are you finding everything you need?”

The blond rubs at the back of his neck. “I’m here for training? But I couldn’t find anyone in charge.”

Bucky’s eyes narrow. “Are you Captain America?”

The blond seems to pale for a bit before cracking a dopey smile and shrugging those massive shoulders. “I get that all the time, but no.”

Bucky grunts and gives him another once over. “Yeah, never mind. The other guy is way more jacked and has that ridiculous Saving Private Ryan haircut.”

Blondie frowns, but Bucky doesn’t catch it as he pulls the papers from earlier out of his back pocket. “But you are Steve, right?”

He nods and extends his hand. “Yup. Steve Randall.” Bucky shakes it and winces a little. This dude’s grip was damn near superhuman. “I just moved from D.C. like a week and a half ago.”

“And you went from the city to this little shit hole because…?”

Steve shrugs, and his smile reminds Bucky of 1950s America, all pies on window sills without as much bigotry. “Needed to get away.”

Bucky takes in Steve’s appearance again and smiles sympathetically. He knew ex-military when he saw it. “I completely understand. Let’s go start your orientation.”

Steve follows Bucky away from the ruined polos. “Is the store always this sticky?”

Bucky scowls.

Fucking Orange Julius.

-

Within twenty minutes, the frigid, irritable, and ridiculously handsome manager Steve met has evolved into a crass, sarcastic asshole that gives him the best interview he’s ever had in his life.

Not that he’s had many. The whole Captain America and symbol of righteousness and truth thing seems to speak for itself recently.

Steve smiles at his own joke while Bucky wraps up the last section of his contract.

“Okay, Steve.” Bucky sighs and closes the manila folder. “Last, and arguably most important, question.” He levels his gaze and inclines his head, fixing Steve with steely blue eyes. “If you were a Starbucks drink, which one would you be?”

Steve, a master tactician and intelligence agent with two lifetimes of training, stalls for nearly two minutes straight.

“Uh,” he says.

“Well?” Bucky presses.

Steve presses his lips together as he drums his fingers on the table. “American pie frapp," he says finally, and Bucky rolls his eyes. “I’m serious! I got one for free when I went to Japan because they kept insisting I was ‘Captain Rogers.’”

Steve doesn’t mention he actually _is_ Captain Rogers.

“One of my friends has a running joke about me being some wholesome American farmer boy, and they all thought it was hilarious,” He explains, and Bucky snickers. Fucking Tony.

“I can definitely see that. Your smile reminds me of the fifties.”

A frown comes to Steve’s face as he remembers the civil rights videos Sam showed him. “I don’t know if that’s a good ro bad thing.”

“Take it either way you want, I don’t give a shit,” Bucky says flippantly, rising from the table. Steve doesn’t want to admit to himself how attractive he thinks Bucky being an asshole is. “Let’s go teach you how to make some shirts look pretty.”

-

“You’re a lot better at this than I thought you would be, not gonna lie.” Bucky makes an impressed noise as Steve passes him another stack of crisply folded pocket tees.

Steve snorts. “It’s hard to be bad at folding clothes.”

Bucky shrugs. “I’ve seen everything, trust me. But you’re a natural,” he sighs wistfully as Steve starts in on another pile. “You make it an art.”

“I’m an artist, you know,” and Steve knows he sounds like a huge douche but he doesn’t really care. He’s trying to impress a hot guy.

Bucky hums appreciatively. “I knew those hands were gifted.”

Steve smiles into another t-shirt.

This has been happening all shift. Ever since he apparently determined that Steve wasn’t going to make off with three hundred dollars worth of boys’ joggers, Bucky’s been nothing but sly grins and encouraging touches and charged comments.

He can’t be imagining this. Bucky is most definitely coming onto him.

And Steve doesn’t mind at all.

-

“This is where self esteem comes to die,” Bucky announces, and sweeps a hand over a cramped area with sixteen filthy-looking stalls. Steve blinks. “The fitting room.”

They walk further in, and Bucky ignores the flurries of teens, strollers, and jeans that seem to push and pull at the two of them as they wade to the station on the other side of the room. The chaos stresses Steve out instantly. There’s too many noises and too much movement underneath the dull lights for him to feel truly in control of anything, but he watches Bucky dodge customers and direct traffic like a pro.

Huh.

Maybe this retail thing was going to be harder than Steve thought.

“This is Jared, fitting room lead and guru.” He says, introducing Steve to Jared Kurtz. He looks even smaller and more like a weasel up close. Steve doesn’t like the way Jared is sending annoyed glances at Bucky while slowly folding a shirt. He sends skittish glances around the fitting room, and it reminds

“Steve,” the blond says, and Jared just nods. “I’m seasonal.”

“You seem alright,” Jared says flatly. Steve forces himself to laugh at what he hopes was just a bad joke. “About time they hired someone normal.”

Bucky claps his hands together and pointedly does not meet Steve’s horrified stare. “Cool!” his voice has gone an octave higher, and he’s backing out of the fitting room very rapidly. “Steve, I’m gonna leave you here with Jared for a minute to go file your paperwork. Go easy on him, Jared.”

Bucky doesn’t really sound like he’s joking anymore, and Steve doesn’t have time to question anything before his manager is completely out of sight.

“It’s good to have more guys like us here, you know?” Jared says. Steve scowls, and the shorter man misses it as he turns to shelve another stack of jeans. “Sometimes it’s a little too PC in here.”

“I’ve never really had a problem with that,” Steve says shortly, and sends Jared a look that makes it clear Steve has said all that he’s going to say about the situation.

“That’s a shame, Steve,” Jared spits. Steve narrows his eyes. “I really thought we were on the same page. You’ll come around eventually. It’s time for us to take back what’s ours.”

Steve nearly tears apart the shirt in his hand because really? What was this guy’s problem? Who the hell talks like this?

“There’s an entire network of us, Steve,” Jared promises. He watches a short Hispanic woman put a pair of jeans in the basket market “go-back” and sneers after her as she leaves. “People willing to do what it takes to make things right.”

Steve blinks and realizes _holy shit this idiot is really trying to recruit Captain fucking America into Hydra._

“Okay!” Bucky announces, coming back into the fitting room and most likely saving Steve from Jared’s white nationalist rant. “You’re going on lunch. I’ll show you how to clock in and out for that and which cushion in the breakroom is the best to take a nap on. Let’s go.”

Steve folds his last shirt as fast as he can and pointedly ignores Bucky’s judgemental stare as he shoves the haphazard square to the back of the rack.

“You’re really learning, aren’t you, Steve?” he deadpans. “Wave bye to Jared for now.”

Steve raises his hand halfheartedly, and Bucky snorts. “Bye, Jared.”

Kurtz just frowns at him as they leave.

“HR said there wasn’t enough evidence on him,” Bucky says before Steve even opens his mouth. He turns his head to find Bucky eyeing him knowingly. “Trust me. He says just enough slick shit to piss all of us off but not enough to get his shit rocked.” He sighs and stops their tour through the store to help an elderly woman find the jean skirts. Steve watches him, all boyish grins and easy charm, and feels his professionalism unravel even more.

“That’s why we stick him in the fitting room,” Bucky continues when he’s back by Steve’s side. “He can’t really do much in there. Just leave him alone.”

“Leave Jared alone.” Steve tries not to frown as much as his mood wants him to. “Got it.”

He makes a mental note to keep an eye on Jared.

-

“And this is the breakroom, but you already knew that.” Bucky pushes the door open to reveal four teenagers laying across each other on a dirty futon, all glued to their phone screens.

The three girls don’t look up at the sound of Bucky’s voice, but the boy does a double take when he sees Steve, brown eyes growing wide. “Holy shit,” he breathes, and sits up off of the East Asian girl’s legs to get a better look at Steve. “Is that Captain America?”

Bucky scowls and points at him. “I’m telling Aunt May you swore.”

“C’mon, Bucky! Please!”

He ignores the pleading and leads Steve further into the room. “No, it’s not Captain America. Why would he come to this shithole?” Steve asks himself the same thing. “This is Steve. He’s new. Be nice to him and don’t stare at his muscles too long, but if you do, don’t make it obvious.”

“Got it,” the Middle Eastern girl says, eyeing him. Steve fidgets.

Bucky snorts and turns back to him. “These are my kids. That’s Jubilation Lee, also known as the human pretzel. Watch out for her.”

She throws a lazy peace sign in Steve’s direction. He returns it out of politeness.

Next, Bucky motions to the two other girls sitting close together. The Middle Eastern girl whispers something to the white girl with jet black bangs that makes her laugh. “That’s Kamala, the world’s best future brain surgeon, and Kate, the world’s best future queen pin.”

Kate throws her arms around Kamala and smacks a wet kiss to her cheek. “We’re in lesbians together,” she informs Steve. Kamala hides her face in her hands, and Steve wants to pinch both of their cheeks.

“You’re absolutely right you are,” Bucky coos sarcastically. Kate just hugs her girlfriend tighter. “How the hell are all of you on break right now? There’s probably four million people in line right now.”

“Wade said he had it,” Peter answers innocently. He misses Bucky’s incredulous look as he shoots off a text, presumably to that kid Steve saw him necking before his shift. “He’s handling everything himself because he said he, and I quote, ‘wanted to get the best out of this kicker before it stops his heart.’”

Bucky sighs. “We need to start drug testing. That little cutie pie is Peter, by the way.”

Steve waves, and Peter ducks his head. Teenagers.

Jubilee boos. The brunet looks at her disapprovingly. “So what do you really do, Steve?”

What was with everyone here and these eerily invasive questions? Not for the first time that day, Steve nearly blows his cover. “I’m sorry?”

She gestures to Steve’s too-tight tee. He _told_ Natasha this size was too small. “How do you look like _that_ and end up working at a place like _this_?”

Steve looks down at his arms as if he didn’t know what she was talking about.

“I like the gym.”

“I’m sure you do. How old are you?”

“Enough, Jubilee,” Bucky sighs. He turns to Steve. “He’s too old for you, and obviously wouldn’t make a good sugar daddy if he’s working here anyway.” Steve fidgets.

Jubilee throws her hands up defensively. “I didn’t even do anything! I can’t ask questions? I’m not even the worst one!”

Kamala hums. “Peter hasn’t stopped undressing Steve since he came in here.” Her girlfriend nods as Peter sits straight up again and instantly starts defending himself.

“You’re blushing, Pete. No one even said anything.” Kate accuses.

“I’m not! It’s just hot in here!”

Jubilee cackles. “Lie again, white boy!”

“You have an hour for lunch, Steve,” Bucky says, interrupting the teens’ increasingly obnoxious exchange. “Make it count. You can cry and take a nap now, but soon we’re going to be in the trenches at the register.”

Steve shrugs. “Can’t be that bad, right?”

-

“Shit,” he sighs some sixty-three minutes and forty-two seconds later, and punches the back button again.

“Yeah, just undo all of that,” Bucky advises boredly. “You’re charging her fifty dollars for that pair of leggins right now.”

“I tried to undo already,” Steve nearly whines. He narrows his eyes at the antique monitor in front of him. “It just keeps doubling the price.”

“Cancel the transaction completely and scan all of it again.” Steve looks incredulously between the giant mountain of clothes taunting him in five different bags and his indifferent, sadistic manager. “There’s not a lot we can do here without me just bailing you out with a manager override, and you can’t always do that. You got this, Steve.”

Steve winces. “I’m not sure I do, Bucky.”

“Gah,” says the antsy baby in the arms of their long-forgotten customer, who’s watching the exchange with rapt attention, credit card already snuggly inside the chip reader although they were about ten steps away from that so _ma’am if you do it now you’re going to have to do it again and it’ll make this entire interaction longer could you please take it out._

Steve sends Bucky one last pitying glance and is met with stubborn silence and pushy gestures. He breathes, and slowly rings everything back up, making sure to double-and-then-triple check the three coupon codes and rewards account before proceeding to the final screen.

He breathes a sigh of relief as the receipt comes spurting out, long and completely correct.

“Sorry about that, ma’am,” Bucky laments, stuffing a handful of extra coupons in one of her bags. “It’s training day, and this purchase was a fantastic learning opportunity.”

She sends him a tight smile, and Bucky braces himself for a world-class berating. “It’s quite alright,” she says, and casts a flirty glance up at the flustered blond. “We call have to start somewhere. You gentlemen have a good night.”

“We all do, don’t we?” the brunet mutters, more to himself than Steve or the lady in front of him.

Steve smiles that stupid aw shucks smile, and she’s instantly putty in his hands. Bucky doesn’t blame her.  “Thank you again. Have a fantastic evening.”

“That went a lot smoother than I would have thought,” Bucky says, brow furrowed as he watches the mom and baby toddle out of the store.

“...Was it supposed to go worse?” Steve asks. He didn’t see why. It was a simple mistake and he corrected it the best he could.

Bucky snorts and shakes his head. “With her type? It almost always does.” Steve frowns. “Get your mobile ready to check out on the device. Gonna do some housekeeping on this one.”

Steve draws the product from his back pocket and starts punching in his employee number. “Well, being polite can get you far, I guess.”

Bucky rolls his eyes. “And looking like you do doesn’t hurt, either, Steve.”

Steve scoffs. “She wasn’t that bad. Although, you could have just done your manager magic and gotten her out of here seven minutes earlier.”

“You needed to earn it, Steve.”

Steve head shoots up from the mobile. Bucky had to have heard how that sounded.

He sends him a secretive smile before turning back to the register, and Steve’s brain comes to a screeching halt as he feels a stupid smile forming on his own face.

_Oh_.

Shit.

Oh shit.

“C-can you give me a minute?” Steve says, and avoids Bucky’s eyes when he looks over and frowns at the high octave the blond’s voice has suddenly decided to take on. “I need to use the bathroom.”

Bucky glances at the short line before turning back to the monitor. “Sure,” he murmurs, reaching for his walkie. “Just come back soon. I’m the only one allowed to hide in the bathroom.”

Steve still finds time to laugh a little at that as he places the mobile down and hightails it to the toilets.

“Get it together, Rogers,” he orders as he splashes water on his face. “We’re here on some hardcare government shit and you have a _crush_. You’re entirely too fucking old for this.”

Steve throws a couple more punishing handfuls into his nostrils before he marches back to his station, intent on not flirting with Bucky for the rest of his shift.

That mission goes to shit as soon as he sees the way that Bucky’s got his hip cocked behind the counter.

Those jeans do wonders for the ass.

Bucky glances at him as he comes back to the register. “All good?”

Steve feels like his stomach is about to fall through his ass. “All good,” he lies.

“Good to hear!” Bucky gestures to the customer in front of them. “He wants to do an online return and an in-store exchange for these eight sweaters. You have to manually do the skew numbers manually. Also, he doesn’t speak that much English.”

Steve blinks.

Bucky grins.

-

“Last customer is gone, Bucky,” Kamala calls over the walkie hours. Steve hears cheers from various sections of the store, and he laughs as he continues hanging button-ups.

“Fuck yeah! Let’s pack this bitch up and blow this popsicle stand!”

Morita comes on almost immediately as soon as Bucky’s vulgar message goes through. “Didn’t  we talk about swearing on the channel?”

Steve hears Bucky groan from near the women’s shoes nearly fifteen feet away. How did he do that so loudly? “Fine, fine,” he laments. “Ladies, gentlemen, and nonbinary folk, please expedite your recovery missions so we can blow our operational popsicle stand well before twenty-two hundred hours. Old man’s orders.”

“Ooh, the G.I. Joe jumped out,” Jubilee says, and Peter’s snickering is loud enough in the background to come over the speaker.

“It’s funny how everyone can fold clothes and run their mouths at the same time,” Gabe warns, and the channel stays quiet after that.

Steve finishes his section, straightening out what he can on his way to the back room. He glances in the fitting room and frowns at how completely trashed it is. “Jared?” He calls. No response.

He’s sure Jared would appreciate some extra help in here, and starts to walk in when a rough hand claps down on his shoulder with way more force than necessary. Steve turns slowly, willing his fists to unclench.

“Don’t worry about this, big guy,” Brock Rumlow grunts, making an appearance for the first time for all of Steve’s mission. Steve watches the hand on his shoulder until the shorter man takes the hint to remove it. He regards Rumlow coolly, takes in his sunken eyes and dark hair and gruff appearance. He looked too menacing to be a retail store manager. “Jared’s got it.”

Steve raises his eyebrows. “It’s a mess in there,” he argues. Rumlow looks increasingly annoyed as the blond doesn’t leave. “We’ll be in here all night if he has to do everything himself.”

The manager bears his teeth in what is probably supposed to be a smile. He reminds Steve of the wolves in the 1944 Italian winter. “Jared is really possessive of his fitting room. Has a thing about being the only one in there after closing. You shouldn’t question it.”

Steve opens his mouth, ready to go back and forth a bit more now that he was even more suspicious, but Bucky’s voice comes crackling over the walkie. “Can we please have some more backup in the shitshow that is the girls’ section right now?”

Rumlow’s creepy smile gets even wider. “Go handle that. You’ll actually be useful there.”

Natasha would kill him if he punched Rumlow out right now, which is why Steve sets his jaw and walks away without another word.

He feels Rumlow’s eyes on him until he turns the corner.

-

“Bye, Steve!” Bucky says, waving off their last employee for the night. If he watches that ass all the way until it turns the corner, who could prove it?

Gabe clucks his tongue next to him. “You’re unbelievable.”

Bucky turns to him, affronted. “I’m sorry?”

“You’re a whore, is what he meant,” Morita corrects, not even looking up as he marks something off on a clipboard. “He hasn’t even been here a full week, James.”

“You sound like my mother,” Bucky whines, and starts going over his own numbers. “I didn’t even do anything!” He says when he feels Morita’s gaze on him.

“Yet,” Morita shoots back. “Remember when you hooked up with Brock? Look how lovely that turned out.”

Bucky cringes. “Don’t remind me. I was young and foolish then. I’m grown now.”

“You were grown then,” Gabe adds.

“I’m more grown now, thank you very fucking much Peanut Gallery Jones.”

“Grown enough not to do something you know you shouldn’t, right?” Morita interjects. Bucky doesn’t answer him. “Because if you fuck this up and Steve quits and we’re back to being understaffed, I’m going to kick your ass.

Bucky rolls his eyes. When did everyone start getting so fucking dramatic?

“Repeat after me: I will not fuck the new guy,” Gabe orders. Bucky mumbles it under his breath, looking at his shoes, and Gabe has to kick him in the shin hard for the brunet to sigh and repeat it louder.

“Again."

“This is homophobic.” Bucky accuses.

“Again.”

“Fine, god dammit! Since I’m not allowed to have any fuckin’ fun,” Bucky pouts, sounding a lot like Peter. “I will not fuck the new guy. Happy?”

Morita and Gabe smile at him. “Perfect!” Morita chirps. “Glad to know we’re all on the same page. Bucky isn’t fucking the new guy. Let’s get these books finish so I can smoke away my problems.”

Bucky ignores both of them as he crunches numbers.

He was _so_ going to fuck the new guy.

-

“How was work, honey?” is the first thing Natasha says to him when Steve starts the video chat. He rolls his eyes when Sam starts laughing in the background.

“It was fine. I had a great time folding clothes and being nosy and restraining from punchies literal Nazis in the head.” The two on the other end make pleased noises, and Steve barely refrains from flicking them off. He did not have self control issues. “What are you guys doing up anyway? Isn’t the time different there?”

Sam huffs off screen before appearing behind Natasha, arms crossed. “It’s like an hour difference, old man,” he teases. Steve flips him off. “We’re fine.”

“Oh so I’m the asshole for trying to make sure you’re getting a good night’s sleep?” He shoots back. Sam just sticks his tongue out before disappearing off screen. “Thank God he’s gone,” he says loudly, and grins when a brown hand comes back in front of Natasha to shoot him the bird. “Now we can do our top secret spy shit, Nat.”

She shakes her head, a small smile playing at her lips. “You two are ridiculous. What did you find today?”

“Rumlow is the manager in charge of updating most of the displays, so I’m guessing that’s how he managers the smuggling. The other three in charge don’t often touch his shipments. He brings the same three or four employees in each week for some early morning shift that’s over before the store’s even open.”

“Any of our suspected friends?”

“All of them. Kurtz seems to be his right-hand man with a handful of racial aggressions of his own.” Natasha grimaces. Steve nods. “I know. He’s always in the fitting room during closing, and is particularly bent on being the last person in there for the night.”

“And what about Winderfield and Sanzetti?”

Steve thinks for a second. “The cashiers? Apparently very territorial about their stations. Lots of card malfunctions on their machines. Probably some sort of laundering going on there, too. I can get you the register numbers so you and Hill can see if there’s anything fishy about any of the transactions. I haven’t seen Black yet, and Darvin isn’t on the schedule any more. We may need to do a quick check up on him.”

“Got it.” Natasha sits back in her chair, stretching like a cat as she smiles at Steve with lidded, emerald eyes. “Look at you! Being all stealthy.” He rolls his eyes, but that sort of praise actually means a lot from someone as sneaky as her. “They’re getting sloppy. This’ll probably be wrapped up in no time. You’re halfway done.”

He isn’t as excited for those words as he thought he was going to be for some reason. “I guess I am,” he murmurs. “I better stay the full time, though. You know how Fury is about changing plans.”

Natasha sees right through him. “Is someone making friends?”

Steve feels his cheeks heat up. “Something like that.”

-

Bucky finds Steve putting together an online order the next day.

“Vanilla bean frappuccino with two pumps of white mocha syrup, two pumps of raspberry syrup, two scoops of freeze dried blueberries --which I’m shocked they had, by the way-- double blended with two scoops of blueberries and whipped cream on top.”

Steve looks up from his mobile to send Bucky an inquiring look. “Excuse me?”

Bucky is smiling around a green straw as he looks up at Steve, who is definitely not watching his pink lips suck on a terrifyingly sweet-looking drink. “That’s how to make a pie frappuccino at Starbucks,” he explains. He hesitates, then shrugs. “Figured it was the closest thing to what you got in Japan. I brought you one.”

It shouldn’t make Steve smile as hard as it does. “I appreciate it. What do you think?”

Bucky’s lips close obscenely around the straw as he takes a long suck, eyes shutting as he lets out a low moan. Steve’s mind is already replaying that moment hundreds of times over by the time the brunet looks at him again. “It’s exactly what I thought you’d taste like.”

Steve nearly swallows his tongue.

Bucky looks at him through his lashes _and what the fuck does that mean_ before sliding the blond his own drink.

“It takes like unicorn shit and diabetes, but there’s coffee in there, I swear,” he promises, not noticing how Steve is alternating shocked looks between the frap and its bearer. “It’s Saturday, and we have a two-day sale. You’ll need it. Trust me.”

He only gets to enjoy watching Bucky walk away before Jim comes over the radio to ruin it.

“Steve, can you help these nice ladies get seven shirts off of the top rack in the men’s tee shop?”

Steve sighs.

This was going to be a long mission.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just in case it wasn't clear what Steve was doing, he was creeping around and being nosy for the mission. Also, Steve's training here is condensed in one day, which usually isn't how it's done at my store, but oh well! I just gonna do what I want because that's what Joss Whedon is doing. Also, the frapp Steve mentions is [real](https://mashable.com/2017/04/05/starbucks-japan-cherry-pie-frappuccino/#4Bv461x9TPqO)
> 
> Come talk to me on Tumblr.


	3. What's Your Return Policy?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky makes it back home to Sam and Natasha... and a special guest comes to visit for the flip-flop sale.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so I certainly DID NOT abandon this and I am SO sorry for taking so fucking long after school got out for me :-( i'm grinding through the last two chapters as we speak and this will be finished before the summer.
> 
>  
> 
> Enjoy, and thank you for being endlessly patient.

Steve hadn’t been to church since 1936 when his mother died. He remembers not finding it in him to join the rest of his troops in Europe in 1945 to pray on the way to fight Hydra (the first time around). Even though he’s been friends with the guy for years, Steve still has a hell of a lot of questions about Thor’s… everything in general.

 

With that being said, Steve is not necessarily a religious man in any sort.

 

But every interaction with Bucky makes him pray a little harder to God that this one is one of the good ones. 

 

He thinks he has a good shot. Bucky wouldn’t be like this with him if there wasn’t something there, right? Sure, they only work with children and Nazis and no in between, but he’s sure that he doesn’t treat any other of-age male the way that Bucky treats Steve. 

 

Or at least he hopes. Steve hasn’t been this happy to get out of bed since 1945.

-

He’s on his fifteen (feeling guilty about leaving Morita to deal with the nearly fifty-person line by himself, he  _ swears _ ) when Bucky kicks the door to the break room open, holding a giant plastic bag.

 

He surveys the four teens and Steve sprawled out and sighs. “You know what’s funny?” Bucky says, making his way further into the room, standing over the teenagers laid on each other with one hand on his hip. Steve definitely isn’t gawking at the way his jeans stretch across his ass and thighs. It’s just that no retail store manager should be that built. It doesn’t make any sense.

 

Jubilee grunts. “Fart jokes?”

 

Peter snorts. Bucky scowls at him, and then Jubilee, who doesn’t even look up from her phone. “I only remember hearing Kamala and Steve be cleared for their break.” At the sound of that, Peter, Jubilee, and Kate’s heads shoot up, panic written clear as day on their faces. Steve snorts. “And yet… there’s one, two, three fuckers in here that are supposed to be helping poor Jim get these soccer moms the hell outta here.”

 

They all exchange nervous glances before Peter, apparently the bravest (and dumbest) speaks. “We’re tired, Bucky,” he whines. The brunet looks at him evenly. “They’re being particularly mean today.”

 

Bucky rolls his eyes. “Excuses, excuses.” He turns the plastic bag upside down, and at least two pounds of candy comes tumbling out. The teens whoop, all tension seemingly forgotten, and lunge at the sugar. “Anyway, the candy store upstairs had extras. Shove some of this in your mouth and let that sugar high carry you to closing.” He steps in front of it before anyone can get a hand on it and wags his finger warningly. “And do not fucking do that again! Better me than Gabe or Morita.”

 

“Sorry, Bucky,” they say in unison before tearing into the candy.

 

“If someone doesn’t recycle all this plastic, I swear to fucking God I’m quitting,” Kamala mumbles, and Kate laughs so hard she snorts.

 

Steve makes a face at the mountain of candy in the middle of the table. “God, that’s so much sweetness.”

 

“Like you.”

 

_ Did he just-? _ Steve barely keeps his jaw from dropping, and hides a laugh (and his most-likely-reddening cheeks) behind his hand. “That’s incredibly cheesy.”

 

Bucky raises an eyebrow. “But you’re blushing like a school girl anyway. How interesting.”

 

Steve opens his mouth to make some retort about the shitty conditioning, but Peter fake gags as he maneuvers between the two grown men, mouth full of gummy bears. “Jesus, won’t you two just make out already? We’re minors for crying out loud.”

 

Kamala starts chastising him instantly as Jubilee and Kate start cackling. Bucky cracks a small smile that, if he didn’t know any better, he would dare to say was triumphant before snapping at them to get back to work. Steve feels his ears get even hotter. 

 

This is starting to get out hand.

-

“-so that’s one more country on board with it. Natasha is supposed to be going to somewhere in Eastern Europe to try and smooth things over with the Russians, but me and Misty both have our doubts about that going well,” Sam snorts. Steve grunts in acknowledgement, completely immersed in his own thoughts about brown hair and an ass that won’t quit when Sam clears his throat pointedly.

 

Steve refocuses back on his best friend, who’s currently admonishing him with nothing more than pursed lips and slightly narrowed eyes. He makes a face back. “I swear, Sam, I heard all of it. Natasha’s probably going to do fine in Ukraine, don’t worry.”

 

Sam rolls his eyes. “Good thing she’s going to Russia then, right?” Steve sticks his tongue out before he can stop himself, a habit he picked up from Jubilee. “What’s got you so distracted?” Sam feigns horror. “And, even worse, acting like a Gen Z?”

 

Steve huffs. “They’re not all that bad,” he defends quietly, and rolls his eyes up to the ceiling to avoid Sam’s reaction.

 

“I’m just- you get out here and you start folding clothes and you have a lot of time to think, you know?” Sam “mmhmm”s him impatiently. “And I’ve just been wondering about how I could maybe go about…” he gulps, and finally fixes his eyes on Sam’s face, bracing himself for the reaction. “Dating someone.”

 

Sam’s eyebrows shoot up to his hairline, and Steve’s heart races when that signature smile doesn’t follow. 

 

“But that would be stupid, right?” Steve rushes out. Sam’s expression doesn’t change. “Because-”

 

“Well, I mean it wouldn’t be impossible I guess,” Sam sighs, more pensive than annoyed. 

 

Steve tries not to panic after he doesn’t get Sam’s immediate approval. “Not that there’s anything to really even be on the lookout for, being in our line of work and all.” Sam’s quiet. “I mean I know there’s probably tons of hoops to jump through with this sort of thing,” he rambles, coming up to pull at his hair. Sam looks at him impassively. “I couldn’t imagine the field day Fox News would have with my, um, you know,” he says, and Sam, the bastard, doesn’t even try and help him out to the finish line. Steve deflates, and rubs the back of his neck awkwardly. 

 

They’re both quiet for what feels like an eternity.

 

“And this is all theoretical?” Sam finally asks.

 

Steve sputters. “I- Of course. I’m on a mission,” he defends unhelpfully.

 

Sam rolls his eyes. “Uh huh.”

 

Steve waves his hands. “It is! I swear. I was just thinking.”

 

“Alright, Steve. Whatever you say. Stay focused.”

 

“Don’t worry about me,” Steve promises, and hangs up.

 

He flops back onto his bed, rubbing a hand down his face before groaning. Very loudly.

-

“Natasha?”

 

Steve can hear her low, distracted hum even through the tinny speakers on his computer. She doesn’t even look his way as she types away at a monitor off screen. Her green eyes are narrowed into slits as she hacks what’s probably a screen in Times Square or a power source of a Bosnian hotel. 

 

“Could you do a quick background check on someone for me?”

 

Natasha stops and looks at him. Not even through the monitor, in that vain way that everyone does. She looks straight into the camera and into every shameful part of Steve’s soul. He wants to shrink. 

 

“Is there someone else that might be Hydra? I’m positive we identified everyone before you even engaged, Steve.”

 

Steve scrubs a hand over his face, vaguely reminding himself to oil it like Sam said he should. Of  _ course _ they already had the number of all their suspects. Earth’s mightiest heroes and all that. Steve couldn’t even try to be smooth. 

 

“Uh yeah,” he says dumbly. “I know. There’s just- I wanna be sure,” he finishes, and Natasha is nodding and back to clacking away on her keyboard before he’s even finished his sentence. 

 

“That’s fair, Steve. Name?”

 

“James Buchanan Barnes,” he says, and definitely does  _ not _ think about how nicely that rolls off the tongue. It sounds like the names from his generation. “One of the assistant managers. Goes by Bucky-“

 

“-Completed two tours in Iraq with several pages of confidential missions, born in Brooklyn in 1982, severe scarring on left arm from what looks to be a cafeteria bombing in Baghdad. Two ex-boyfriends according to a Twitter account abandoned in 2013 but currently single,” she finishes easily. Natasha’s face spreads into a slow smile as Steve watches her eyes read over his manager’s file. “He’s cute, Steve.”

 

Steve coughs. “Didn’t notice.”

 

She shoots him a flat look. “I’m sure,” she coos drily, but thankfully doesn’t push him anymore. “But he checks out. No Hydra connections. Just someone with a ridiculously extensive skill set that seems to be wasting his time taking coupons from yoga moms.”

 

“There’s no in-store deals going on until the sixteenth,” Steve corrects quietly.

 

“What?”

  
“Nothing. Thank you.”

 

“Anything for you, Steve. You deserve something nice, you know?”

 

Steve groans. “I am literally on a mission!”

 

She shrugs. “With a hell of a lot of time to kill. I told you that this one was gonna be pretty uneventful. Nothing’s gonna happen if you don’t stick perfectly to the status quo.”

 

He’s quiet for a moment. “Nothing is going on, Natasha. Seriously!”

 

“Is he lying to you about that special someone he met out there, too?” He hears Sam yell off of the screen. He scowls.

 

Natasha laughs and crows “he sure is!” at the same time Steve says “mind your damn business, Wilson!” 

-

Over the next thirty days, Steve fell into an easy pattern: come in, fold shirts, dodge handsy old ladies, flirt with Bucky. Go home. Report his top secret spy shit to Natasha and avoid her questions about who has him smiling so hard. Repeat.

 

He’s trying to muffle his laugh as he watches Kamala and Jubilee try and shove Peter into another pair of jeans to go over the two they already forced him into earlier when Gabe’s desperate voice crackles over the walkies.

 

“Not to alarm anyone, but the regional manager will be here in about fifteen minutes for a managerial meeting.”

 

Steve’s stomach swoops as he watches the kids freeze and look over at him, terrified.

 

“Please make sure the store is presentable and we’re meeting our goals for loyalty,” Gabe continues, voice even. “You’ll all be fine, I promise.”

 

The channel cuts out, and Peter nearly trips and cracks his head open on a chair in the break room trying to jump out of the pants. The girls immediately straighten out their clothes and break into frenzied, nervous chatter.

 

“I’m going to be sick,” Kamala groans.

 

“Do you guys think we can get away with hiding in here?” Jubilee pleads, looking at Steve for advice. He shrugs helplessly.

 

Peter wobbles in a small circle for approximately three seconds before toppling to the ground. “So no one is gonna help me out of these?” He gripes.

 

Steve sighs. “Guys, relax,” he advises, and they listen to him, strangely enough. “You guys are kids.” They scoff, but no one objects. “No one is expecting you to do anything other than your job. It’ll be over soon enough. Just stay out of the way.”

 

The kids seem to visibly unwind, and all look around at each other a little less doubtfully. “You’re really good at this kind of stuff, Steve,” Kamala says sweetly. He smiles at her. “I feel like you’re leading us into battle.”

 

_ When you lead tens of thousands of men to their death in the middle of German winters, you start to get good at this sort of stuff _ , Steve thinks. He hopes his smile doesn’t get too sad. “I sort of am.”

 

Bucky comes over the walkie next. “Everyone hold onto your nuts. Look like you know what you’re doing. Don’t strangle any customers.” The channel cuts off just as quick as it started.

 

Steve’s mouth feels dry as he walks back up to the front of the store, logging back into his register and tuning out the first customer he calls up that’s giving him an earful about the line.

 

He can’t focus. There’s a reason Steve doesn’t do espionage. He can’t play the same waiting game that Natasha does. How is he supposed to stop himself from ripping Pierce’s heart out of his chest the second he sees him?

 

Gabe comes to the front with Bucky. Neither one of them gives Steve a thought as they talk lowly and urgently. Steve tries to busy himself with the giggly baby in front of him struggling to get out of its mother’s arms as he rings up an absurd amount of flip flops. Thank God for supersoldier hearing.

 

“-completely unexpected, dude,” Gabe gripes. Bucky grunts in agreement. “What the fuck would he even possibly want?”

 

Bucky sighs. “Dunno. The only time I’ve ever even heard of the guy was when he personally saw to it that Kurtz got put in our store.”

 

Gabe laughs bitterly. “Great. And he’s a fucking Nazi.”

 

“Looks like it. I just wanna lock everyone in the break room until they’re gone.”

 

“Eh, I mean Randall wouldn’t be so bad out here. What did you say about him the other day? All-American good looks and what not.”

 

Steve can barely conceal the grin on his face.

 

“Shut up! He’s right over there.”

 

Gabe snorts. “Yeah, yeah. Just try and keep it in your pants until Pierce is gone so you don’t get fired for bastardizing the Aryan race.”

 

Bucky laughs even louder. “I’ll try. Pierce’s email said something about coming back on the 21st to watch over that next shipment of shorts. No clue why.”

 

Steve’s ears prick up at that. Pierce is coming in again? Here?

 

His thoughts start racing, and it’s hard to focus on what Bucky and Gabe are saying after that.

 

Time for action.

 

As if on queue, the devil himself waltzes through the giant arching entrance at the front of the store, accompanied by the douchiest man that Steve thinks he’s ever seen in his entire life. They make brief eye contact before Douchebag’s eyes narrow. Steve turns back to his computer screen and tries to work through more customers.

 

“Gentlemen,” Pierce says, and Steve can hear the forced smiles in their voices.

 

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Pierce,” Gabe says. Bucky hums in agreement. “Let’s go to the back room, shall we?”

 

“Oh sure,” Pierce says, and Steve tenses as Douchebag starts to stalk closer to him. “Brock here is just going to do a quick observation of my store. Nothing to worry about.”

 

Brock Rumlow. The only person in that organization that comes anywhere near being the monster that Pierce is.

 

Steve wills himself to keep his head down as the asshole circulates around the front of the store as the managers and their guest of the hour make their way to the back. He gets about forty seconds to himself before he finds Rumlow right in front of him, sizing him up.

 

Rumlow nearly leans over the register to stare at Steve. He gulps. “Anyone ever tell you that you look like Captain America, pal?”

 

Steve wills his eye not to twitch. “All the time,” he answers through gritted teeth.

 

Rumlow chuckles. “Poor bastard,” he says, and walks off before Steve can open his mouth.

 

Steve waits until Rumlow is far away from him to scowl.

-

“Bull fucking shit,” Natasha says. Steve nods frantically on the other side of the phone before remembering that she can’t see him. 

 

“Cross my heart,” he says gravely. He winces as his voice seems to bounce around the putrid men’s bathroom. “And he’s with Rumlow.”

 

Natasha lets out another long line of explicatives. “We’ve hit the jackpot. This feels like Christmas with less bullets.”

 

Steve frowns. “Less?”

 

The redhead is smug. “I said what I said, Rogers.”

 

They’re both quiet, and Steve winces. He knows what he’s about to say is going to kill their mood, but he can’t help himself.

 

“This is our chance,” he reasons. Natasha is quiet on the other end. “Pierce only pops his head out a couple times a year, and never in the same place.”

 

A few more moments of silence follow before Natasha concedes. “If you’re really that sure, Steve,” she says. “We’ll do it. Just tell me what you need and I’ll get it to you.”

 

He smiles although he knows she can’t see him. “We’re gonna get him, Nat. I promise. We just need to act fast and be smart.”

 

She groans jokingly. “There you go, being all captain-ly again. And here I was hoping your little suburban vacation had loosened you up.”

 

“The stick up my ass hasn’t moved an inch,” he retorts, and takes pleasure in her surprised guffaw on the other end. “I’ll see you in a few days.”

 

The line cuts, and Steve lets himself do a little victory dance before leaving the stall. They were really going to catch this son of a bitch! And not a hitch went off while they did it.

 

Steve finds himself chest to chest with Bucky as soon as he steps out of of the bathroom. The brunet is frowning at him and crossing his arms.

 

“And where were you? No one approved your fifteen.”

 

Shit.

 

_ Shit _ .

 

“Uh,” Steve said. “I had a big breakfast?”

 

Bucky’s nose scrunches in disgust before he laughs. “I’m kidding. I don’t really give a shit. Also, too much information, Steve, Jesus.”

 

Steve forces out a painful laugh as his heart rate slows down. Bucky smile wilts a little, and he actually gives Steve a real once-over. “You alright? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

 

“Something like that,” he mumbles. Bucky’s frown from earlier becomes real, and Steve knows he has to make a move to divert this line of questioning. “I-I’m not gay,” he blurts, and immediately winces after.

 

Bucky’s eyes narrow. “Okay? What are you trying to say?”

 

Steve flails. What  _ was _ he trying to say? He was Captain fucking America and he couldn’t even ask someone on a damn date. “But I’m not straight, either,” he tries again. 

 

Bucky remains unimpressed. “I’m still failing to see why I have to know this information.”

 

“It’s the- what do you call it nowadays? Ah!” He snaps his fingers and smiles brightly at an annoyed Bucky. “Bisexual. I’m bi.”

 

The brunet raises an eyebrow. “That’s good for you, Steve.”

 

Steve nods, choosing not to respond to the sarcasm. “And I think you’re cute.”

 

Bucky’s eyes widen. “Oh.”

 

“Yeah.”

 

They stare at each other before Steve scrambles for more words. “And I would like to take you out? This is all really new to me. I’m sorry. I feel like that’s a violation of some sort of rule? But no one ever told me we  _ couldn’t _ date co-workers, so what’s the harm, right?”

 

Bucky blinks at him, completely frozen. “Right,” he breathes. “Would you excuse me for just a second?” He squeaks, and turns on his heel to round the nearest corner. He doesn’t let himself breathe until he’s sure he’s alone by the newborn onesies, and lets out a sharp “HOLY FUCK” before giving himself exactly fifteen seconds to regulate his breathing and get his mind to stop racing.

 

Steve, hot, big, blond, Steve just asked him out on a date. And Bucky’s gonna fuck him. 

 

His life is unreal.

 

He returns to find Steve exactly where he found him, but the blond has made himself useful by starting to straighten up the ruined piles of shirts in his section. Good boy.

 

Steve looks up at the sound of Bucky’s walkie talkie, and Bucky wonders how someone who could probably pull a helicopter back to the ground (if desperate enough) could look so much like a kicked puppy. It was dangerous. And confusing. And frustratingly endearing. 

 

“Bucky,” Steve starts, and Bucky watches the poor cloth choke in the blond’s tense, nervous grip. “I’m sorry if that was out of line of me. I’m not sure what the protocol is for work relationships, but I just like you, is all. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable-”

 

“Yes.” Bucky blurts out before Steve talks himself into backtracking his initial offer.

 

“I- what?”

 

Bucky exhales shakily, and suddenly can’t meet Steve’s eyes. “Yeah, I wanna go out with you.”

 

Steve’s smile looks like a million bucks to Bucky. “That’s fantastic! I mean… yeah, cool. Very cool.” He clears his throat at looks down at the shirt still in his hands. “I found this really good burger joint that’s the farthest thing from mall food I’ve had in what feels like forever.”

 

Bucky hums, not really listening, more focusing on the way that Steve was gripping the poor piece of cloth in his giant hands. “Yeah, I mean I’m not picky, but- wait.” He frowns. “Did you say you already had a place picked out?”

 

Steve snorts. “Where were you the last fifteen minutes? I have a place already. I can take you, too… if you’re not scared of motorcycles.”

 

Seventeen-year-old Bucky just died and went to heaven. “N-no! I’m fine with motorcycles.”

 

Steve smiles. “Perfect. I’ll text you, then.”

 

Bucky wants to open his mouth to make some smart ass remark about riding big things, but Kamala’s voice comes over the walkie before he gets the chance, asking Bucky to come help her with another stubborn customer up front.

 

“Duty calls,” he says lamely, and  _ yeah no shit he knows you’re a fucking manager here Barnes _ and starts walking towards the trashed baby section. 

-

“Bucky,” Morita calls out, probably for the third time. Bucky’s floating on air right now. “I’m gonna get Chipotle for lunch. Did you want anything?”

 

“Nah,” Bucky says, and a stupid smile is slowly forming across his face. “I have a date coming up.”

 

Gabe throws him a look. “You’re disgusting.”

 

Bucky shrugs. “That’s the price I have to pay! I didn’t choose this life.”

 

Morita narrows his eyes at him. “With who?”

 

Bucky blinks at him before turning to the papers on his desk. “Since when is this a fucking police interrogation? If it goes well I’ll let you know. Hopefully I come in limping.”

 

Gabe rolls his eyes.

-

_ Steve looks really good _ , is Bucky’s first thought as said blond beefcake swings a leg over his motorcycle and shoots him a smile as he jogs up to Bucky.

 

Damn.

 

Bucky doesn’t know what he expected, but  _ damn _ .

 

“Hi,” Steve says.

 

“You look really hot,” Bucky blurts back.

 

Steve raises his eyebrows, and takes his sweet time taking in Bucky. He squirms a little. “So do you.”

 

They take in each other in silence before Steve punches Bucky on the shoulder. Bucky scowls.

 

“Ready to go?” Steve asks just as Bucky says “That was a hate crime.” Steve laughs.

 

“Come on, let me help you get on the motorcycle. You’re wearing my helmet.”

 

Because he’s a grown ass man, Bucky most certainly does not squeal as he follows Steve to the ride. He’s trying not to think about that tight henley stretching across Steve’s chest as he maneuvers onto the motorcycle. He told himself he wasn’t going to put out on the first date, especially not for one of his employees, but it’s getting embarrassingly harder as the seconds pass.  

 

Bucky wraps his hands around Steve’s middle, and the blond whistles lowly. “Hands to yourself, Barnes. Children live around here.”

 

He buries his smile into Steve’s shoulders instead of answering. This was going to be fun.

-

Bucky frowns. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

 

Steve makes a face back at him. “Are  _ you _ fucking kidding  _ me _ ?”

 

Bucky reaches behind him, grabbing for his jacket. “That’s fucking disgusting, Steve. I genuinely cannot believe that, and I expected more from you.”

 

Steve snorts, watching Bucky angrily push back from the table, chair legs scraping against linoleum. “Good. Leave then. Have a good time walking your ass back home on I-74. Have a good life, asshole.”

 

Bucky stops to stare at Steve hard. Steve stares back.

 

They glare at each other for about a minute before cracking up as Bucky makes himself comfortable in his chair again.

 

“You’re ridiculous, Steven,” Bucky says, wiping a tear out of the corner of his eye.

 

“I can’t believe you like Superman better than Batman, though,” Steve gripes. Bucky shrugs. “That’s just wrong.”

 

“Batman is an asshole and that sounds like a problem for you and Google,” Bucky says simply before sipping on his milkshake. He indulges himself in peeking out at Steve’s amused smile, his own lips curling up around his straw. He reaches across the table to grab Steve’s hand and squeezes with faux condescension. “But it’s cute that you think he’s the underdog.”

 

Bucky’s grin drops when Steve’s hand tenses. He tries not to snatch his own back too quickly.

 

Steve immediately relaxes and drops his gaze, stealing sheepish glances up at a confused Bucky. “I- sorry,” he says hastily, and gives the offending hand a dirty look as if it had a mind of its own. “I’m not- where I’m from- I couldn’t…” Steve trails off and sighs.

 

Bucky’s blood boils. “Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell got to us all buddy,” he says softly. “You’re fine.”

 

Steve runs a frustrated hand through his hair. “I’m still learning to be comfortable with everything,” he apologizes again. “I’m sorry.”

 

Bucky smiles warmly and reaches for Steve’s hand across the horrible checkered table again. “No need to be nervous. We’re fine here. We can be ourselves. We can take it as slow as you want.” 

-

Naturally, the couple finds themselves making out outside of Bucky apartment like teenagers approximately twenty minutes later.

 

Bucky kisses him hard before bracing himself against Steve’s chest. “I have to get the door open, Lover Boy. Give me a minute.” Steve grunts and ducks down for another kiss, but Bucky laughs and pushes him before their lips connect. “Steve! Five seconds!” He laughs, and Steve actually  _ stumbles back _ . 

 

He tries his hardest to laugh off the shock of someone actually being strong enough to shove him, and uses the brief time that Bucky’s turned around unlocking his door to try and gather himself. _ What the fuck? _

 

The door finally budges, and Bucky’s grabbing at Steve once again. “Come here,” Bucky orders, and closes the door just to crowd Steve against it. He sticks his hands down the front of Steve’s pants to palms him through his underwear. Steve huffs and grinds his hips into the touch.

 

“It only took me a minute to open the door, and, contrary to popular belief, you didn’t die.” Bucky teases against his lips as he squeezes his package, and the blond groans. “See what happens when you’re good?”

 

Steve makes a mental note to find out whatever response his body just had to that later.

 

“You’re talking too much,” Steve complains and kisses him, and slips a hand in Bucky’s hair to tug on it experimentally. He pulls his grip as much as he can, careful not to take his date’s head off of his fucking shoulders, but still enough to make the brunet feel it.

 

He can’t lie. Steve’s developed something shy of an obsession with Bucky’s hair. It was just so long and shiny and pretty… and now here he is, getting to play with it in all of its 2006 emo-punk band glory. He can’t believe it. Steve feels like he’s floating.

 

Steve also feels like he’s fucking dying. He’s probably erring too hard on the side of caution, but he knows himself. He knows how after seventy-something years in this body, his muscles work faster than his brain when he gets too excited. He wants Bucky to enjoy it, but he can’t pull at it with all of his strength.

 

His stream of nervous consciousness is abruptly interrupted by Bucky fully holding him through his briefs.

 

Right.

 

Steve’s hand tightens in his hair before he knows what’s happening, and Steve winces as he feels the roots strain against the scalp. Shit. Bucky’s breath catches, and Steve breaks the kiss, drops his hand, and holds Bucky slightly away from him to read his expression.

 

Bucky is staring back at him with wide, glazed eyes, hand still firmly planted on his dick.

 

“Shit, Bucky. I’m so sorry-”

 

“Harder next time.”

 

Steve’s mouth goes dry. “I- what?”

 

Bucky kisses him again, and closes the bit of space Steve put between them seconds before. “Pull my hair harder. I like it.”

 

Steve’s mouth drops open as Bucky goes to work on his neck, nipping lightly at the skin there. “I- oh,” he concludes in a small voice. “Okay.”

 

Bucky snorts in response. “I wanna blow you. Is that okay?”

 

An irrational panic grips Steve, and he doesn’t know why. He’s an adult. He knows that, logically, this is what follows after some dates, especially between people with as much chemistry between them as him and Bucky. Just because he’s a damn near immortal ninety-five year old that happens to be an Avenger doesn’t mean he can’t enjoy a night of nice company and consensual sex with a man to whom he’s attracted.

 

Sam’s counseling logic only works for about two more incomplete thoughts before the anxiety kicks in, however. He’s really about to waste an entire night of a mission jumping into bed with a stranger. Right after he had made a large discovery that would knock Hydra on its ass for a considerable amount of time, nevertheless! Steve should be at home, organizing an attack so that they could strike soon, and here he is shacking up with the fucking manager. Unbelievable. He was the worst spy ever. He hopes they never put him on a case like this again.

 

But if they hadn’t, he wouldn’t have met Bucky, who was currently teasing his head through his underwear and making an incredibly convincing argument about why Steve should get out of his head and focus on the moment right now.

 

Natasha said it herself. Steve deserves this.

 

He’s pretty sure that advice was meant to be taken had the head of a neo-Nazi organization showed up at his job to run a drug smuggling operation through a shitty retail store, but whatever.

 

Besides, when was he ever going to get a chance like this again?

 

“Yeah,” Steve says firmly, more to his own thoughts than to Bucky. “And I wanna return the favor later.”

 

Bucky kisses him hard one last time before removing his hand altogether and sinking to his knees. He fixes Steve with a hard look as he reaches for his zipper. “I don’t usually do this on first dates, you know. I’m a lady.”

 

Steve cracks a grin. “Well, I’m glad you decided to make an exception.”

 

Bucky returns the smile as he yanks at Steve’s pants.

**Author's Note:**

> More to come very soon, I promise! Look at all those cameos! I'll revise these notes later for more context, but right now go ahead and follow me on tumblr at aniloquent so we can talk about Chris Evans. Bye!


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